


Because We Need Each Other

by fromthedepthsofinsanity



Series: Peter Parker's Privileged Life [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Adoptive Father!Tony, Gen, Guilt, Minor Character Death, Original Unimportant Characters, Orphaned!Peter, Superhero Accidents/Collateral Damage, Tony Stark Has A Heart, making amends, severe injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-05-26 09:24:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6233242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedepthsofinsanity/pseuds/fromthedepthsofinsanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A diverted attack takes away the last Peter has, and it's all Iron Man's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Connection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it was requested, I will be putting Peter's age in the beginning notes of each chapter, along with where the chapter falls on the timeline I have constructed. I apologize for any confusion I may have caused while writing this out of order; I simply started writing whenever the motivation came to me. 
> 
> Peter starts off nearly eight in the beginning of the chapter and is over nine at the end. This chapter is first in this title, but the ending scene is set after Peter has been introduced to the rest of the Avengers.

He would be happy if he never had to attend another funeral in his life. There were no jokes to be made, no underhanded comments, or light-hearted, teasing gestures; only solemn silence and grim expressions of sorrow were really acceptable, and Tony couldn’t handle that very well. He was the epitome of asshole remarks and the opposite of seriousness. A funeral was just too much.

It was made even worse by the fact that he and his narcissistic oversight were the reason Ben and May Parker were in the ground now. Tony refused to fall back into the moments leading up to their demise, but the images came all the same. There was a D-list villain, and Tony would rightfully call him a nobody. All he wanted was Iron Man’s attention so he could take his metal head and prove that Iron Man could be defeated. Who was Tony Stark to deny a fan? The idiot was nothing but a glory-seeker at best and a shit-stirrer at worse.

At least, that’s what Tony thought before the man destroyed a level of the parking garage they had found themselves in. It was a level that was deserted. Tony had counted maybe seven vehicles in all, and not one owner or passenger. It was the perfect playground until it wasn’t. The Parkers’ car descended down the ramp from a higher level, no doubt oblivious to the sudden noise and movement that busted in through the concrete not a moment before. How the jackass he fought had found a way to deflect and redirect the pulse from his hand was a mystery he intended to figure out the moment it happened. However, Tony quickly forgot that science project the second his attack collided with the car.

Hollywood would have made the vehicle explode, but the reality was that it crumbled in on itself. The metal shrunk and bent as if frightened, the glass shattered and ran with a piercing shriek, the tires exploded like water balloons, and the hood snapped up almost comically, twisted just enough to spear through the windshield, and lodge itself into the front seats where Ben and May sat. Tony hadn’t heard anything from either of them; he liked to think they were gone instantly.

Peter had been another story. The sound he had made was more than a shriek in terror and much more than a scream in pain. From where he stood, Tony could just barely see the top of the young boy’s head through the splintered and warped window, and he didn’t like the sight of brown hair splattered with red even the tiniest bit, no more than he liked how his yells suddenly disappeared.

“Hang on, kid!! I’ll-!”

He was flung away by a powerful blow to his side. His plan turned from taking the nobody down to taking him down and relieving him of his limbs. He was careful of his pulses and ammo; Tony wasn’t confident that they wouldn’t be deflected again, but thankfully, every shot he took landed very cleanly. Iron Man was more than his weapons and armor, and he was more than happy to show off what his fists could do. The Glory-Seeker fell to a heap at his feet all too quickly. Tony wished it had been quicker.

Satisfied that his enemy wouldn’t be moving any time soon, he rushed back to the car and wrenched the door from it. The scene was just as he predicted. Ben and May were beyond help, and the young boy, no more than six or seven, was slumped in his seat. His tiny arm had a long gash down the outside of it; both legs were tangled in loose metal, one more so than the other; and his head was freckled with glass and painted in red swirls. Tony wasted no time in delicately bending and folding back the pieces that held the boy captive and ripping the seat belt from him. When he was lifted, he weighed nothing and sagged against red and gold.

“JARVIS.”

“He’s still alive, sir.”

“Notify the authorities.”

“Already done, sir. Estimated time of arrival is one-minute forty-seconds.”

“I won’t be waiting.”

“Of course.”

Tony wanted to say that the rush to the hospital was a blur, but he remembered every cloud and building that passed him by. He remembered keenly the cacophony of doctors and nurses and medical equipment rushing around him and terms being tossed about that he knew he should have known but couldn’t bring to the forefront of his mind. It only became slower and murkier when the child was taken from his arms and was wheeled away.

He could have left. Some small part of him told him that his job was done and that he should leave, but he couldn’t. Still in armor and unaware of the stares and whispers and exclamations of happy surprise, he sat in the waiting room and gazed ahead, replaying the events leading up to where he currently was. He talked to no one that approached, not even the occasional excited child eager for his attention. Thankfully, the parents of those children were more receptive to the atmosphere and gently steered them away with a worried look thrown toward him.

Tony answered no phone calls, muted JARVIS, and waited in total silence. How and when Pepper found him, he wasn’t sure. She tried speaking to him, just as the children had, but when he didn’t counter back with a smart quip or counterargument, she too fell quiet. She knew all too well that no matter how much Tony tried to hide, it, whatever it may be, would eventually surface. She just hoped that it wouldn’t blow up in their faces and/or cause her a panic-induced heart attack as per usual.

“Mister Stark?”

The woman’s voice startled him and caused him to jump from his seat. He stood in front of her, helmet off and eyes filled with impatient worry. To ease him, she smiled softly.

“Don’t look so grim,” She cooed, “He’s stable, and things look promising.”

“Him?” Pepper inquired, rising to stand next to Tony, “Who is he? Who are we talking about?”

The doctor straightened a bit, took a deep breath, and released it, “He woke for a moment during our stitch work. He told me his name is Peter and that he’ll be eight soon,” Her smile wanted to pull her lips back up, but they remained set in a line, “That’s as much as I got out of him before he fell unconscious again. He’s still asleep for now.

“Peter has a grand total of forty-seven stitches, three fractured ribs, a distal radius fracture, and, the most severe, a femoral shaft fracture. Unfortunately, we cannot cast or splint his chest as it would restrict his breathing, but we can cast his wrist, and his ribs should heal nicely on their own. Our x-rays show there is no chipping or complete breakage, but we will be keeping a close eye on him to see if there are any breathing difficulties or internal bleeding. What we will need to do is operate on his leg.

“While the bone didn’t slip too badly out of place or break into many pieces, his femur will need to be stabilized if it’s to heal properly. It’s pretty routine. In my experience, people recover quite well during and after, and I have high hopes for Peter. Unfortunately, I cannot continue without proper consent. It’s not a life-threatening injury, but neither should it be classified as elective.”

“Well, you have it,” Tony instantly replied.

“Mister Stark, are you his legal guardian?”

“No.”

“Do you know how I can reach someone for him?”

Tony hesitated, “No, but I can find out.”

“Please do,” She nodded, “Do you have any questions for me? Concerns?”

“Can I see him?” Tony asked before Pepper could chime in.

The doctor licked her lips, “I’ll have to advise against that for right now, Mister Stark. He’s resting and still being looked over. Once we’re sure he’s settled completely and there’s less fuss, you’re more than welcome to visit. I’ll keep you posted until such a time.”

He could only nod and fade out of the conversation. Pepper began asking all the right things immediately, all the while flicking her gaze toward Tony with questions filling the air between them. He didn’t acknowledge them. They were for another time. His thoughts went straight to Peter.

The next few days were filled with reports, plans, a surgery, questioning, and more than a few jabs at him. Normally, the sharpened barbs thrown about by the media and critics would give Tony a thing or two to giggle at while he worked, but he heard and took every word to heart. If he hadn’t known better, he would swear the shrapnel in his chest had finally met its mark because it was true. Every nasty comment and critique was true and tore straight through him. It was almost enough of a deterrent towards seeing Peter.

Almost.

The reality was that Tony had been permitted to see him that evening, but the boy had been fast asleep on not just the first but every occasion Tony visited. Iron Man was beginning to think that Peter was hiding, somehow knowing that he was coming and shutting his eyes just in time to play pretend. Tony couldn’t blame him if that was the truth, but logic said that Peter couldn’t possibly be that lucky, and the child did need his rest. The plaster, bandages, and medicines were testimony to that.

So Tony tried whenever he could until finally he caught Peter awake. A woman dressed to the nines in floral patterns and white passed him by as he entered. She gave him no second or even a first glance and seemed on a mission as she left. Tony knew her instantly to be a member of social services. The air about her reeked of foster care and good intentions and gave him a slight shiver as well as an awful aftertaste.

Peter looked up at him as he slipped through the drawn curtain, and their eyes locked. Neither spoke or made any move, and both were very caught. It suddenly struck Tony that he hadn’t the slightest idea as to what to say to Peter; he’d selfishly wanted to visit for one reason: to make sure he hadn’t died. The doctors and nurses had told him that much already, and while it was true that seeing was believing, he didn’t think he needed that kind of verification. It was with jarring clarity that he realized he wanted more than proof of life. Tony felt a debilitating guilt and a sadness deeper than any measurable depth, and some part of him wanted Peter to spit that back at him and give him concrete proof that his emotions were spot on.

But he didn’t. Peter sat amongst the white and metal, wrapped in a splash of red and blue plaster, and waited for Tony, as the adult, to make the first move so he knew how to react in turn. Tony wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse to be in the position of control.

He forced himself to speak regardless, “Hi, Peter. I’m-” Tony trailed off, shut his eyes, and sighed. It seemed ridiculous to introduce himself when he was so well-known.

“Tony Stark,” Peter finished for him after a few heartbeats, “Iron Man. Which do you like better?”

“Whichever. I mean, whatever you want to call me.”

“I like Tony,” Peter said with finality.

“Yeah,” Tony nodded, then rambled on, “Yeah, me too. My mom picked it. Good job, if I had to say anything about it.”

“My mom picked mine too. Uncle Ben told me.”

As he usually did, Tony decided to jump in feet first, “Is that who you’ll be staying with? Your Uncle Ben?”

Peter looked down at the red cast on his wrist, “I was staying with Uncle Ben and Aunt May already.”

“Yeah?” Tony swallowed the knot in his throat. He knew where this was going even before Peter continued.

“Mom and Dad are dead. We had a funeral for them. Now Aunt May and Uncle Ben are going to get one too,” Tony opened his mouth to spill out his apologies, but Peter didn’t let him. Doe-like eyes looked back up at him with sharp understanding and held his gaze like a metal to a magnet, “I knew they would. People like leaving me.”

“That’s not true. I don’t think that’s true at all.”

“You sound like Betty. And the nurses. And that one doctor that told me she fixed my leg,” Peter finally broke his stare, and Tony felt himself able to take a satisfying breath, “Betty likes to lie, so I don’t believe her when she says things to me. The people she talks to on the phone don’t call her Betty, so I know that’s not her name. If she’s lying about that, then she could lie about other things, right? She could lie about people leaving me and how I’ll really like my new home.”

“New home,” Tony repeated. Peter took it as a question.

“Mhm. She says she’s trying to keep me close to school, so I don’t have to ‘readjust much,’ but there ‘aren’t many fostering families in the city anymore.’ She didn’t tell me this. Just some lady on the phone. I know it means that I’ll have to move again.

“Maybe if I ask Harry really, really nice when he comes to visit again, he can ask his dad to take me. That way we won’t be far away from each other and we can still be friends. Harry isn’t allowed out much though. I don’t know when I’ll see him.”

The knot in Tony’s throat didn’t go away after his fourth swallow. Peter’s brutal honesty would have been met with nothing short of a smartass remark had the setting and circumstances been different. All the while, Tony would have been admiring the truthfulness and bluntness with an almost snobbish appreciation, but every word made him feel grimy and cold as if submerged in muck. Tony knew loneliness and abandonment as intimately as he knew the inner workings of his armor. Hearing Peter mirror near-identical thoughts Tony himself had as a child _hurt_. It reopened old wounds and created quite a few more, especially since Tony was the reason-

No, he and Pepper had this conversation. He couldn’t lie about the events, but it hardly helped anyone to play the only wounded party.

“Are you feeling any better, Peter?” He asked as he sat in the rolly chair Peter’s doctor normally occupied and slid Peter’s side, “Still hurting?”

Peter nodded, “My chest hurts. It feels like a bruise all over. Like when I slammed my fingers in the door but around my middle.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony said earnestly, “Really, really sorry. I wish I could have done more. Helped your aunt and uncle too. I didn’t try hard enough-”

Peter’s tiny hand cut him off as it covered the back of his. The squeeze he tried to give it was weak but crippled Tony under its weight. Peter’s half-smile was just an additional kick that knocked the wind from him.

“It’s okay, Tony. I’m sad too.”

Tony hardly left Peter’s side after that. He even went so far as to move Peter into a private room, fill it with toys he thought the boy would like, and helped Peter along when he couldn’t answer any of Betty’s questions or comments. He even funded the very funeral he was currently attending. Ben and May weren’t without instructions pertaining to the event of their deaths, but hadn’t planned past where they wanted to be buried when it came to their own bodies. Tony couldn’t begrudge them; no person ever thought they would kick it early, especially with a child in the house and a lot to look forward to.

Peter had looked very small the entire service. He was utterly lost in the sea of people much older than him, and yet, he stuck out like a rose among weeds in his wheelchair and casts. Whether he was immune to the various, numerous looks being thrown his way, Tony was in no position to say. Peter didn’t react to any of them. He looked straight at the closed twin coffins and made no move to stop any of his silent tears. The only indication that he was even remotely present was his seeking of Tony’s hand, which he grabbed with surprising strength and squeezed.

He got no better (no worse?) as the procession moved from the funeral home to grave site. A sea of black and forlorn faces followed the men carrying Ben and May on their shoulders. Tony was deaf to the crying, whimpering, whispering, and sniffling. The image of the dead pair flashed vividly across his mind’s eye, as if he was back in the moment he pulled Peter from their mangled car. His heart raced in his chest, and his teeth grinded together so loudly, he knew everyone around could hear. Peter didn’t even react to his distress, and Tony didn’t want him to.

Neither heard the man speak as Ben and May Parker were put into their final resting places. The only hiccup in the grim silence was Peter, who, after all this time of being deathly quiet, finally wailed. It conquered all other sadness and seemed to carry for miles. Many sprung up to their feet at the sound and surrounded Peter, ready to comfort and smother the awful noise. Tony, who had been sitting just to Peter’s left, did nothing more than reach out, cover his tiny hand with his broad, calloused one, and squeeze. It earned him more than a few nasty glares and a handful of confused expressions.

A little awkwardly and a little too quickly, Peter turned in his chair to cling to Tony’s arm, bury his face into his bicep, and bawl. He was shushed and fussed over still, but he ignored all his aunt’s and uncle’s close friends in favor of wrapping his arms tighter around Tony’s. Tony didn’t try to smother his agony by asking him to calm down; he let him carry on in whatever way he saw fit.

No one stayed for very long after the mounds had been made. When all realized that Peter wanted nothing to do with anyone other than Tony, they left him with only a few lingering looks and heavy sympathy.

Tony pushed Peter closer to the graves. He wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do, but it quelled the boy’s howling and focused him. It was almost a challenge and most certainly heartbreaking to pull free of Peter’s hold, but at the very least, he kept a loose grip on his hand. An hour was contained in a second, and the sun raced through the sky as if eager to sleep and have the day killed. Even the sun couldn’t stand the weight of sorrow Peter was feeling.

When blue began to speckle with pinks, purples, and oranges, Tony blurted out, “Peter, how’d you like to come home with me?”

Peter’s wide, tear-flooded eyes finally snapped away from Ben and May Parkers’ graves. With a blink, the last hot droplets fell from his lashes and down his cheeks. Tony squatted down to Peter’s level to make sure Peter knew he was hearing exactly what he was saying.

“What do you say? Wanna come live with me?”

“You,” The boy started, but his voice was weak from misuse and failed him. Tony was more patient than he had ever been in his entire life as he waited for Peter to continue, “You want me to live with you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Why?” It was an innocent enough question, until he added, “Why do you want me?”

“Because I think we need each other.”

“Betty said she found me a family,” Peter whispered sadly, as if all was final, “They’re nice. I met them. Misses Rose and Mister Ethan Brown. They want me to live with them very much. They’ll take me as soon as Doctor Lexi says I can go.”

Tony waved the idea away like a bad smell, “Don’t worry about them. I wanna know what _you_ want. I’m not going to make you go with me.”

Peter stared, and Tony found himself unable to decipher the emotions swirling in the earthy brown. The boy’s facial muscles didn't twitch or morph, and his lips stayed in a firm, sad line. Nothing betrayed any of his thoughts.

“If I say no, you’ll leave me, won’t you?” More tears rolled down his face. Tony didn’t think anyone had that much fluid in them to cry as much as Peter had.

“No,” Tony whispered, but cleared his throat and added, “Only if you want me to, that is.”

It was all the spark, all the unintended _confirmation_ , Peter’s panic needed to burst into a roaring, uncontrollable flame. The look of absolute terror and hysteria that consumed his face had Tony trying to backpedal. However, the damage had been done. Thankfully, Peter didn’t withdraw and hide; instead, he sought out Tony’s frame like one would a log in a stormy sea. His skinny arms wrapped tightly enough around his neck to choke him, and his whole being shook with jarring tremors.

“Don’t leave me!” Peter began to chant, curling his pleading fingers into talons against Tony’s shoulder blades.

With great uncertainty, Tony hugged back, “No one’s leaving anyone.”

“Mom and Dad left!” Peter wailed anew, “Uncle Ben and Aunt May left! I don’t want Tony to leave too! I don’t wanna go with Rose and Ethan! I don’t wanna make new friends! I don’t wanna hafta move again! I wanna go home! I want Mom and Dad and Uncle Ben and Aunt May back!”

“I know,” Tony repeated over and over to him. He knew Peter wasn’t listening, and it made him feel no better to reply without anything more concrete, but he had to say something. The tones of his voice soothed him as much as Peter’s anguish wounded. He wanted desperately to tell him that it would all be okay, but Tony knew the phrase wouldn’t help.

It was nearly dark when Peter’s wails and sobs dimmed down to hiccups and snorting sniffles, and he was exhausted. His slowly loosening hold spoke all the levels of fatigue that Peter was incapable of putting into words, but he was able to say other feelings.

“I don’t want to go with Rose and Ethan,” Peter faltered through his lingering cries, “I don’t like them much.”

“They’re nice, but you don’t like them?”

“They’re nice like teachers are nice.”

It struck and impressed him once again how perceptive Peter was, “You can still come with me, Peter. We’ll stay right here. You won’t have to go anywhere far.”

Peter was quiet for so long that Tony thought he’d fallen asleep. Finally, he nodded his head against his shoulder.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Tony confirmed.

“I want Tony to stay.”

“I can do that.”

 

The next year was filled once again with grievances and annoyances, necessities and unnecessities, physical therapy and recovery, and a full blown social war. Tony was used to getting his way at the snap of his fingers, and when that didn’t work, he was used to waving around a full fan of cash and still getting what he wanted. This time, neither method worked.

Ethan and Rose Brown _had not_ taken too kindly to having the boy they were promised snatched away so suddenly (and in their own words _viciously_ ) by Tony “Iron Man” Stark. They argued Tony’s track record and his current record. They argued his emotional state and his state of fault. They argued his status as a detached CEO, a reckless vigilante, and a whoremangering, narcissistic, parasitic booze-tub to make their case. Tony could only honestly argue against two of the three titles unfortunately. The last everyone was fully aware of; most even embraced it.

Social Services was not one of those entities that tolerated Tony’s aforementioned flaws, as far behind him as they may be. Ethan and Rose had pristine records, and, what’s better, they had little to no notoriety. They weren’t frequent targets, nor were they in any danger of accidentally getting Peter blown up, kidnapped, killed, or maimed. Well, killed or maimed went with almost any parent regardless of how careful they were. Kids were going to get hurt somehow. They lived for it.

The one thing Tony had going for him was Peter himself. Though Peter wasn’t twelve, the age of consent in adoption, he was listened to, and he had a lot of noise to make. If Tony didn’t know Peter at all, he would have said he was the single worst brat on the planet. Whenever Ethan and Rose decided to make an appearance, the fit would begin. Tony didn’t think it possible for anyone, let alone a child, to be such a monster while still recovering from multiple injuries. The visits usually ended with Ethan and Rose red-faced, flustered, and beside themselves, and Peter positively worn out from acting out of character.

Tony took great pride that Peter was the picture of perfection and happiness whenever _he_ was around.

Needless to say, it was a trying, lengthy time that Tony wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy (not that he wanted his worst enemy adopting, God forbid), and in the end, Tony won. Despite his past and despite the negative attention he naturally attracted, Tony became Peter’s guardian, much to Ethan’s and Rose’s ire. But they didn’t matter anymore than their arguments mattered when all was said and done. Tony was the winner, as per usual, as it should be.

The win didn’t come without baggage, however. He was closely watched and always bothered, and Peter hadn’t even been able to come home with him yet. Too much still had to be done. Doctor visits and a clear room had to be made for the boy, as well as a trip to Peter’s previous home. Most everything had been left to him in Ben’s and May’s wills, and as a result, the sheer amount of stuff was enough to bury anyone, especially a young child with too much emotional strain as it was. The endeavor was as exhausting as it was stressful, overwhelming, and unfruitful. Only Peter’s bed, a box of clothes, and a favorite and well-loved toy made it to Tony’s home that night. Tony resolved to just hire the right people to maintain the property until Peter was ready to shuffle through the endless amount of _things_ again.

Somehow, Tony knew it would be no easier the next time than it was the last and was kicking himself for even suggesting going back to the Parkers’ home to Peter.

Peter’s new room wasn’t empty by any means, however, when he finally did arrive. Everything he had accumulated during his stay in the hospital was moved promptly and the bedroom looked nearly lived-in. All it needed was a little boy to play pretend in, run around in, dirty, and sleep in it. As soon as Peter was given the okay to rough-house, there would hardly be an issue.

Thankfully, that was one area that had nearly no hitches: Peter’s recovery. He bounced back like a new rubber ball. The cast on his wrist came off at seven weeks, his ribs were given the okay at eight, and finally, after six and a half months of rigorous do-almost-nothing while his femur healed, Peter was cleared for physical therapy, which he took to gratefully. Even after moving in with Tony, he continued, as per doctor’s orders, his scheduled exercises and visits and listened very politely and obediently when told he still couldn’t run, but that would be over soon enough, and he could tear the house and synthetic yard up at his leisure.

At the moment, however, he was very content to sit on the opposite end of Tony’s couch and secretly watch him tinker with a robotic part he’d been fussing over for three hours. After what seemed like Tony’s millionth hissed curse, Peter crawled over the cushions and sat himself right down in Tony’s lap. Tony’s eyebrows knitted as he took in the event. It was surprising, spectacular, and a little annoying; Tony would call it the solar eclipse of social interactions.

“Pretty presumptuous aren't you?”

“Was that a snarky comment?”

“Of course.”

Peter beamed, “I knew it!”

“Why ask?”

Peter’s toes curled against the couch’s fabric, his fingers fiddling with the toy in his hands, “Steve said you were King of Snarky Comments. I heard him.”

Tony smirked. He had use for a snitch, “Did he now?”

“Snarky Starky.”

Tony laughed, “That Steve’s too?”

“Nope! Mine!” Peter exclaimed happily, “Better than ‘Iron Man’!”

“Nothing’s better than Iron Man,” He replied haughtily.

“Why are you Iron Man if your suit isn't iron?”

“It's catchier.”

“The Tin Cup,” added Peter thoughtfully, “The Metallic Motormouth.”

Tony was actually impressed, “You're good.”

“Those were Bruce’s.”

It was comfortable between the two of them after Tony managed to hurdle their closeness. He could work just as easily with Peter in his lap as he could without, and Peter was hardly a nuisance. Tony wasn’t used to quiet children. Most rushed up to him with such excitement, determination, and happiness that it almost grated against his aura. Had he been a weaker or more anxious or introverted man, the attention would have taken its toll, but Tony was none of those things usually.

He couldn’t deny, however, Peter’s presence was a balm the past few weeks the child has been living with him. While quiet, he still made the slightest bit of white noise; currently, it was the way he played with the knotted puzzle in his fingers. The slightest click, the gentlest sigh, and the tiniest rustle of clothing as he moved were comforting things. It was _nice_ to have a constant presence about, even if that presence assumed too much and cuddled without asking.

It was because of Peter’s continuous white noise that Tony was hyper aware of its absence. He looked down and found the child fast asleep against him.

“JARVIS.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Help.”

“You don’t seem to be in any distress.”

“Don’t feel too bad, but that’s where you are very wrong.”

Tony sat stiffly, unwilling to take a deep breath or move too suddenly lest he wake the child in his lap. Peter was beyond being jarred awake by such simple movements; head tucked neatly under Tony’s jaw, body molded against his chest, and good leg bent against his side, he was rooted in like a tick and just as comfortable, and Tony couldn’t make heads or tails of the situation.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pepper’s silhouette glide down the steps. She paused for a moment and stared, but quickly enough decided to leave the pair be and continue on about her business.

“Pepper,” Tony hissed. Peter squirmed minutely and smack his lips. Tony bit his own and held his breath until he thought Peter had settled again, “Pepper!”

She appeared behind the sofa, leaned against it, and smiled teasingly at him with her chin in her palm, “Don’t you two look comfy.”

“What do I do?” He hastily asked.

“What do you mean ‘what do I do’? You don’t have to do anything.”

“If I move, he’ll wake up.”

“Then don’t move.”

“But-”

Pepper’s smile returned in gentle fashion as she pressed a finger to Tony’s lips and gave him a silencing look, “Take a nap, Tony.”

She left him there with only that simple sentence. Tony stared after her for a moment, watched her disappear around the corner, and was immersed into bearable helplessness.

 

Pepper would return a couple hours later to check on her two favorite boys, only to find Peter right where he had fallen asleep and Tony with his mouth open, head lolled back, and a quiet snore leaving him. With a bitten back chuckle, she snapped a picture and left them be.


	2. Disappear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter shares his fear with Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested: Peter's age is a little over eight to almost nine and this chapter is the actual second in the title.

Tony wasn’t quite sure how to handle this. He knew kids did weird things more often than not. They were children; It was their right. However, it seemed a little outside the spectrum of normal-weird for Peter to be following him around their home, hiding in whatever space he could fit, and watching Tony from aforementioned space for what seemed like hours. Tony had found it awfully charming in the beginning, back when he was expecting to be jumped out at when he got close, but now it was a little more than off-putting. Peter wasn’t interested at all in trying to startle him, just  _ watch _ . 

At first, Tony decided to just try to ignore it. Peter was still adjusting to his new home after all, and it wasn’t an easy transition, especially since he was now living with someone who wasn’t family by blood. He didn’t know what to expect and needed time to sort things through, if he ever did at all. Trauma lingered, most of the time forever. 

It was with great guilt that Tony admitted he was the source of it all. He’d apologized before, and would no doubt do so many more times until Tony himself was satisfied, but he doubted it would ever feel like enough. 

However, after weeks of ignoring the behavior, it became harder and harder to deal with Peter’s large doe-eyes drilling holes through him. It didn’t do wonders for his anxiety. The knowledge of being constantly watched made him feel  _ constantly watched _ at almost every hour of every day wherever he was. Who knew something so seemingly innocent would cause this many problems? 

Tony tried to be patient. Oh, did he  _ try _ , but he couldn’t stand it anymore. He was mindlessly peeling an orange in his kitchen when he decided to call Peter out. The fruit fell from his fingers and hit the counter with a dull thunk. 

“All right, Peter,” Tony stated loud enough that he was certain the boy heard him. Turning, he looked straight at the kitchen island’s corner and waited, “What’s wrong?” 

Before long, a brunette mop, earthy brown eyes, and a tiny arm and leg peeked around the edge at him. Peter shook his head, and Tony’s hands found his hips in response. 

“Telepathy isn’t one of my many strong suits. You have to tell me what’s up.” 

Peter cocked his head to mime confusion, but Tony knew better by now. Peter could act dumb all he wanted, but the fact was the boy was as perceptive as he was adorable. He’d have to get up pretty early to fool Tony Stark. 

He realized this all too quickly and recoiled back into himself. He redirected his gaze away from Tony and pulled most of himself back around the corner. 

“Peter,” Tony tried again, more firmly, “You can talk to me, remember? You don’t have to hide.” 

He did know this, but he kept his mouth firmly shut, and his lips slowly pulled tighter and tighter. Tony let his arms fall to his sides with a heavy sigh. He wasn’t sure he could be much clearer, but he would try. Clicking his teeth, he made the decision to walk forward and squat down to Peter’s level. The boy didn’t dare look squarely at Tony. 

“So,” Tony started, “You’re not waiting to scare me,” Peter shook his head in confirmation, “And you’re not waiting for me to pay attention to you,” Again, another head shake, “And there’s nothing wrong at all?” 

To this, Peter hesitated. It was only then that he mustered up the courage to meet Tony’s stare and shrug. 

“Do you want me to try to guess what’s wrong?” 

“No,” Peter answered quietly after a few heartbeats, “You’d never guess.” 

“I don’t know about that. I’m pretty smart.” 

It was just the tiniest, most short lived quirk, but Peter’s lips definitely curled up at the ends slightly. 

“You can tell me anything.” 

Peter gripped the edge of the counter hard enough to turn his tiny knuckles white, “You might laugh.” 

“I will not laugh,” Peter was unconvinced. It shined brightly on his face. Tony supposed he deserved it since he saw a lot of things as joke. Still, he held up his hand, “I swear on my suit that I will not laugh.” 

Seemingly satisfied, Peter nodded, but a solid minute passed before he said anything, “I just want to check up on you a lot. That’s all.” 

“That’s all?” 

“I just,” Peter looked down at his feet and curled his little toes, “I just want to make sure you don’t disappear. If I make sure you’re there all the time, you can’t just suddenly go away without me knowing. I don’t want Tony to go away.” 

Peter didn’t see the transformation taking place on Tony’s face as he listened or the very jarring stop his mind and body took as the boy confessed. Tony Stark, Iron Man and Man of Action, could do nothing the moment Peter told him his fear. It mimicked everything Tony himself had felt whenever he followed his father around or hid in his father’s workshop, but it ran much deeper than just the feeling of abandonment or want of affection. Peter was afraid of losing yet another person that he cared very deeply for, afraid that if he blinked, Tony would fall into a grave just like his parents and aunt and uncle had, and he would be left alone for good. 

Tony had never really had anyone to confirm or deny his own issues, and, as a result, he didn’t know how to handle Peter’s. He couldn’t just change the subject and put everything aside this time. He had to face it head on, take on grief and sadness and loneliness with no suit of armor to help or a staggering amount knowledge to guide. Thus, Tony stalled very completely with an aching heart and stared at Peter with all the stillness of a statue, unable to emote hard enough to convey the storm brewing in him. All was silent between child and guardian. 

Brown eyes watered over as he looked up and searched for something recognizable on Tony’s face, but Peter found nothing. No laugh (thankfully), no smile (unfortunately?), and no shared sadness. It left only possible anger and indifference, both of which scared the living shit out of him. 

He’d done it now. He’d made Tony angry. He knew he should have just played along, played the mischievous rascal and continued to secretly spy on Tony while playing hide-and-frighten. Now Tony would be done with him completely and he’d be sent away with Ethan and Rose, or maybe some other family that would get sick of him and leave him too. 

Peter tried to hold back the flood that was breaking through his lashes, but he couldn’t. The weight of his fear was crushing him and forcing his tears. All he could do to try to stop it was bite his lip, but he couldn’t even manage that and let out a whine. It was all that was needed to jumpstart Tony. He took the boys face in his hands and thumbed away the first few streams.

“Don’t-” 

But Tony stopped. He didn’t have a right to tell Peter not to cry. He had every single right in the world and then some with what he had gone through and was currently feeling, but it left Tony with nothing to say yet again. All that was left was action, something Tony prided himself in, among many other things. Though, his plan wasn’t something he was very adept at. 

Somewhat jerkingly, Tony let his hands fall from Peter’s still wet face and hook under his arms. He brought his small body to him as he lifted him up and hugged him tightly. Peter’s instant embrace was as instinctive as it was desperate, and all of it was awkward to say the very least. 

Tony, as stated before, wasn’t good at this sort of thing. He couldn’t recall the last time he had hugged someone other than Pepper so lovingly and with so much purpose and need. It just wasn’t a thing for someone to seek out Tony for comfort; it was always the other way around. To give affirmation rather than receive it scared Tony, but if Peter’s ever-tightening hold was an indication, he wasn’t doing half-bad for as clumsy as he had been. 

“Don’t be mad,” Peter hiccuped. 

Tony felt something jerk inside him, “I’m not mad,” He shook his head, “I’m not mad.” 

“You’re not?” 

“No, no, not at all. I’m not mad at all.” 

“I’m sorry I hid all the time.” 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.” 

“Don’t disappear, Tony.” 

Tony’s eyes shut as he felt all the air and happiness leave him in a rush. It was more than heartbreaking to hear his plea, if such a thing existed. Maybe devastating, maybe even ruinous, Tony wasn’t sure he could find the right word and wouldn’t dwell. He coiled his arms tighter around the child in his arms and tried to will every bit of certainty he had in him into Peter. 

“I won’t. I swear I won’t.” 

They stayed like this for an eternity and not long enough. Peter continued to cry quietly onto Tony’s shoulder, and Tony stood with no real way to assure him. Comfort was not Tony’s forte; give him a busted lawnmower any day, but his own crying child, he couldn’t try and fix enough to make either feel much better. He knew he would always feel like the guilty party and like Peter was the one always wronged. It was amazing anyone, any good parent, subjected themselves to the torture of seeing and knowing their child was upset. 

“Kid, you’re tearing what’s left of my heart out at every turn.” 

Peter sat up. He was a pile of puffy eyes, red cheeks, and a single runny nose. Peter sniffled and scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve, “I’m sorry,” 

“What’d I say about sorrys?” Tony said with a hint of play, “You’re allowed to be upset, okay?” 

Peter nodded and let out a tired sigh. It went without saying that sadness and anxiety was exhausting. Tony could relate. 

“Let’s go get burgers and ice cream. How’s that sound?” 

Peter looked to the clock, “Pepper said she’d make dinner.” 

“Well, Pepper is just going to have to be angry with me then.” 

By the way Peter’s eyebrows furrowed just the slightest, Tony knew he didn’t like the idea, but he perked up just slightly. 

“Call her. She can come with us,” He suggested. 

“Excellent idea.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little peek into how Peter is holding up in his new home, along with some massive feels. Hope you enjoyed!


	3. Baking Cookies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested: Peter is just over ten in this chapter.

“Aunt May would not have been happy with you.” 

“She wouldn’t be the first to not approve of me.” 

“No, no. I mean,” Peter’s eyebrows furrowed, “You’ve really never made cookies, Tony?” 

So began Peter’s crusade. Every time he thought Tony had a moment of peace, he would pounce, begging Tony take him to ‘the little store on the corner Aunt May always went to,’ and every time Tony found some excuse to squirm away and avoid the issue. He couldn't admit to Peter that he didn't own any baking tools; hell, he didn't even own a set of measuring cups. There was never any need to fill his kitchen with anything other than basic equipment when he could fill his workshop. He hardly ever spent any time there anyway. 

And while telling Peter that seemed a little blasphemous, but it had to be done. It wasn’t often that Tony felt the sharp prick of being without (he was Tony Stark, after all, the most privileged. Take that how you’d like), but something about the boy put him in that spot more often than not. Peter’s scrutiny of him stung a lot more than even Pepper’s, and Tony was finding it harder and harder to be the take-no-prisoners, give-no-shits, driven man he had always been around him. 

Then again, when had Tony ever found it easy to lay his soul bare to anyone, even his closest friends? Something as simple as admitting to never baking cookies had turned into the discovery of an ever-growing stain of missed childhood milestones. Or so it seemed. Overthinking was a destroyer. 

It took three full days, a lot of begging, more than a little whining, and one or two incidents of UNFAIR ALLIANCES between Peter and Pepper for Tony to finally give in. They made an afternoon of shopping for equipment (which Peter was very particular about), finding ingredients (if it didn’t match the colors of the packages Peter insisted Aunt May had used, it was not going in the cart), and hauling and setting it all up inside just right (with Peter’s nod of approval at the very end). Tony had to admit full cabinets and new appliances did look nice, even if it was a pile of things he would likely only use once. 

“Okay, so first, we gotta put all the dry stuff together in this bowl,” Peter stood on a chair next to him and pulled all the ingredients close, “It’s, uhh, two and three-fourth cups flour, two teaspoons of cream of tartar, one teaspoon of baking soda, and a fourth teaspoon of salt. Here,” Peter thrust the cup scoop into Tony’s hand, “You do the flour. I’ll do the little stuff.” 

“You memorized the recipe?” He asked, digging into the bag of flour. 

Peter nodded as he carefully measuring out his parts, “Yup!” 

“Like cookies that much?” 

“Uncle Ben did,” The boy said matter-of-factly, “He loved Aunt May’s cookies, so every few days we would make some more so we could always have some in the house,” Peter smiled, “Every Monday and Thursday, and once every other week we would make my favorite.” 

“These aren’t your favorite?” 

Peter shook his head, “No, but these are my favorite to make. They’re easy. Wait!” Peter grabbed Tony’s hand and stopped him from dumping the heaping cup of flour into the bowl, “You gotta scrap the extra off. Like this.” 

Using his finger, he pushed the excess back into the bag. Tony watched with a cocked eyebrow. 

“It’s very important,” Peter firmly stated, no doubt reciting what he had been taught, “Gotta be exact. Baking is like science you can eat!” 

“Science we can eat,” Tony repeated, “I don’t think I would want to try all science.” 

“This science is good,” Peter grinned, “Especially fried.” 

“Fried snickerdoodles?” 

“Mhm! Fry ‘em then put some vanilla ice cream on top. Mmmm~” 

“I’ll take your word for it.” 

“We’ll make some next time.” 

Next time. Tony smiled a little at that. 

Peter gave the flour a good stir, pushed the dry bowl aside, and pulled another closer, “So, umm,” Peter scratched his head, “Oh! We need a cup of soft butter,” The yellow sticks sagged slothfully against the bottom, “And, uhh, a cup and a half of sugar,” Yellow was quickly covered by grainy white, “And two eggs! One for each of us.” 

He passed one to Tony and knocked the side of his egg against the bowl’s edge. Tony watched as a tiny pink tongue poked out of the corner of Peter’s mouth as the boy carefully wedged his thumbs into the crack he made and pulled the shell apart. The gooey insides seemed to fall in slow motion and plop helplessly onto the sugar below. 

“Perfect! Your turn, Tony.” 

He followed his lead and was almost immediately made head stirrer while Peter poured the rest in. Soon, the bowl was filled with a soft sugary dough. Admittedly, Tony was expecting something lumpy and gray. His previous kitchen excursions had never gone so well before. 

“Alright, Rascal, what now?” 

“We gotta wait,” Peter sighed crestfallen, “We gotta put it in the fridge and wait for it to cool down. It’s too sticky right now. It takes forever.” 

“How long’s forever?” 

“Twenty minutes.” 

Forever, indeed. Tony learned pretty early on that for such a patient, easy-going kid, Peter and waiting didn’t mix. He supposed that was across the board for every child, but Peter would make a sport of it if he could. Let’s do this, Tony! No, that’s boring. This instead. How long’s it been? We still have THAT long? Maybe this. This will take up lots of time! Read? Nooooo. That’ll make time go backwards! How long’s it been NOW? That game will take  _ too _ long. I don’t wanna watch that! Ready now?! 

Tony could say that he was no better. Everyone was on Tony’s time, and woe betide anyone that thought the opposite was true. He should make Pepper a medal for putting up with his fits in the very few times he was made to wait. Maybe Peter was picking up on his bad habits, even though he had yet to witness that particular one. 

“Let’s play Hot Hands!” 

“Hot Hands?” 

“Yeah!” 

“I don’t know what that is, Peter.” 

“Harry taught me. I’ll teach you,” Peter climbed up onto the counter to sit in front of Tony, “I’ll be the slapper. You gotta hold your hands like this,” Peter showed him, holding his hands out with palms down. Tony mimicked the movement, “Okay, so I put my hands under yours. What you gotta do is pull your hands away when you think I’m gonna smack yours.” 

“You’re gonna smack me?” 

“Not hard! You’re not supposed to hurt!” Peter argued, “But anyway, you gotta pull away. I gotta get the top of one of your hands. If I get you three times, you’re it, and if you pull away three times without me going after you, I get a free smack and you’re it.” 

“If you get me.” 

Peter grinned toothily, “I’ll get you.” 

“Think you’re faster than Iron Man, Rascal?” 

“Smarter too!” 

“That’s it. Crossed the line,” Tony dropped his hands and shook his head comically. Peter looked absolutely stunned, “Those were fighting words.” 

“No! No, they weren’t!” 

“I’ve been around a good while, and I know fighting words. We gotta settle this man-to-man once and for all.” 

Before Peter could argue, Tony scooped him up and headed to the living room, where he was dropped onto the couch. 

“Alright, Rascal. Me and you. We’re going a round.” 

Peter bounced once on the cushions before popping up and standing tall. He wasn’t nearly tall enough to look Tony eye-to-eye, but he held himself as if he was. Hands on his hips and chest puffed out, Peter smiled broadly. 

“You’re gonna lose!” 

“Fight of the century: Iron Man versus Peter Parker.” 

Peter bounced again, getting a feel for just how high he could go, “The fight of the century would be you versus Steve.” 

“Iron Man versus Captain America. I could see the appeal.” 

Peter smirked devilishly, “You’d lose.” 

Tony’s hand went to his chest dramatically as he stumbled back, “I can’t believe what I’m hearing! I’d whoop Cap’s ass. I thought you were on my side, Peter! That really hurt!” 

Peter’s expression was caught between grinning wildly and frowning, merging into something Tony could only describe as awkward confusion, “I was just talking smack!” He pleaded, “It’s what you’re ‘posed to do!” 

“Smack isn’t that low,” Tony shook his head, “Peter Parker, dirty fighter extraordinaire.” 

“I’m sorry, Tony.” 

All too quickly, Tony accepted the apology, held his arms out for Peter, and waited for the embrace, which Peter readily fell into. He should have been more wary of Tony’s swift forgiveness. With a twist, Peter found himself in a loose headlock on the floor. 

“Cheater!!” 

Tony laughed lowly, “Now, you should know better than to trust your opponent. They’ll do anything to get ahead.” 

“Dirty fighting! I’m telling Happy!” 

His laugh rang out louder, “You go right ahead!” 

Peter kicked out and tried to get away, “Then I’ll tell Pepper!” 

“Oh, no. No, no, no,” Tony shook his head, “That’s real dirty fighting right there. You already get her to guilt trip me. You’re not going to be a tattletale too.” 

“Help! Help! Pepper! JARVIS!” Peter yelled as he kicked more. 

“They can’t help you,” Tony tittered, blowing a raspberry into Peter’s cheek. 

“Ew! Tony spit!” 

Tony’s grip loosened just enough for Peter to squirm away. It was the only mercy Tony would allow. He expected Peter to take off, put some distance between them, and come barrelling back to try to take him on again. How wrong he was. The moment Peter was freed, he jumped up onto the couch and launched himself at Tony, thoroughly catching him by surprise and tackling him to the ground. The air in Tony’s lungs came out in a rush, his chest was covered completely by the scrawny kid pinning him down, and his whole being was completely stunned. 

“--Two! Thr--!” 

Tony shot up before the number could leave Peter’s lips. He grabbed the boy and put him in a tight hug, squishing him to his chest. 

“Dang it! I almost got you!” Peter’s yell was muffled into Tony’s scruff.

Yeah he did, “You did not,” Tony laughed, “Gotta get up earlier than that to get me!” 

Arms pinned to his body, Peter could do little more than struggle and kick as Tony laughed and held him close. He couldn’t outmatch Tony in strength, but he was slippery and if he could just make an opening, he could get away again. Peter kicked up as high as he could and caught his heel on Tony’s jaw. Using what little surprise he gained, the tiny boy slipped down from the hoop Tony’s arms created, hooked his knee around Tony’s neck, and managed to pull himself up onto Tony’s shoulders in one smooth move. Small soft palms covered Tony’s eyes, and Peter tried to throw his slight weight back to topple Tony. 

Unfortunately, Tony stayed quite upright. 

“Fall down already!” 

“You’ve been watching Natasha.” 

“Nat’s been teaching me!” Peter grunted and gave another valiant tug backwards, but Tony only rocked slightly with the movement, “Come on!! Fall over!!” 

“Training the next Black Widow, is she?” Tony covered Peter’s hands with his own and shook his head, “Starting with thigh-grabs of all things. Scandalous.” 

“You gotta fall sometime!” Huffing, Peter threw himself back one more time, letting his weight hang precariously from Tony’s shoulders when Tony didn’t fall. 

“I think we can go finish those cookies.” 

“Don’t change the subject! You gotta lose first!” 

Smirking, Tony finally gave in and fell back at Peter’s insistence, but it was hardly a tally in Tony Stark’s L column. Peter couldn’t scramble away quick enough, being taken by surprise, and was pinned by Tony’s head, shoulders, and back. 

“One,” Tony counted, and Peter grabbed at everything close to pull himself out from under him, “Two.” 

Peter gasped and tried to push him away instead, “No!” 

“Three,” The number left Tony’s lips slowly and Peter flopped against the floor in utter defeat, “Ding, ding, Rascal. Told you you couldn’t beat Iron Man.” 

Peter was quiet and motionless, so much so that Tony lifted his head to look at him. He expected to see a very disappointed and upset child, maybe even an angry one, but Peter stared blankly at the ceiling with his brows furrowed and a sigh on his lips. 

“Maybe next time, Squirt.” 

“Next time,” Peter started, “I’ll ask Steve to fight for me. Then I’ll win.” 

Tony didn’t want to, but he grinned despite himself, “You’re a brat.” 

Peter returned the smile, “You’re a brat.” 

Tony hopped to his feet, leaving Peter on the floor for the moment, before turning, grabbing the boy’s outstretched hands, and pulled him to stand upright. Peter held onto his fingers even after he steadied himself and let his weight rock back onto his heels. He playfully swayed and trusted Tony to hold him up. 

“Let’s go finish those cookies, Rascal.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy the recipe. It was just one I found on the internet, but I heard it's pretty good! What I didn't mention is that you have to scoop the dough out, roll it into balls in your hands, roll it around in some cinnamon-sugar, and pop them in the oven for ten minutes. 
> 
> Comments and Kudos are very much appreciated! Go make some cookies.


	4. First Meeting: Bruce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested: Peter is just over nine in this chapter.

He didn’t know who Tony thought he was, or just who he was dealing with, but Bruce planned on giving him a long talk about just  _ leaving his kid _ with him. There was no discussion on Bruce babysitting, no ‘Hey, Banner, this is Peter. I’ll be back in a sec,’ no ‘Peter, this is Bruce Banner, or you might know him as the Hulk. Walk on eggshells around him or you’ll find out quick why he’s the secret weapon.’ Peter had just been set down right inside the lab, Tony had given him a firm ‘stay’ in command before swiftly leaving. Boy and Scientist exchanged looks, and the awkwardness began. Bruce and Peter were alone

Peter currently sat on the edge of the table and swung his legs in empty air. Bruce found himself trying much too hard to acclimate himself to the boy's presence, making himself all the more aware in the process.

It wasn’t until Peter spoke and broke the anxious silence that Bruce was able to relax in the slightest, "Tony says you're a nuclear physicist."

"Tony is correct."

"And that you're a doctor."

"Also correct," Bruce added.

"So," Peter rolled his eyes as he tried to put all the information together, "You fix nuclears' problems then."

Bruce wasn't quite sure how to respond. His mouth open and shut multiple times before he could even manage, "What?"

"Nuclears talk to you about their problems, and you listen, and you fix them by giving advice and telling them it's normal to feel the way they do!"

It very suddenly clicked in Bruce's head exactly what Peter was getting at, "Oh. Uh, no. I'm not that kind of doctor. You're thinking of a psychologist."

"Nuclear psychologist," Peter confirmed, "Doctor Nuclear Psychologist."

”I don't think there's much demand for a nuclear psychologist."

"Everyone needs someone to talk to. Even nuclears."

Bruce hesitated a moment, "Nuclears don't talk. At least, not very well."

"Maybe you're just not a very good psychologist."

Bruce gave Peter a flat look and was given a broad, giggling smile in return. Eyes narrowing, Bruce couldn't help but grin a little himself.

"Did Tony put you up to this?"

Peter's laugh was all the confirmation he needed despite the lie that immediately followed.

"No!"

“I’m thinking he did.” 

Peter laughed harder, nearly pitching himself off the table, “He did!” 

Bruce shook his head. Tony’d barely even begun his life as Peter’s father and already he had recruited him into being his own personal hellion. And who did he sic him on first? Bruce; of course, Bruce. He would never escape Tony’s endless pranks and attempts to rile him. 

“So whatcha doin’?” 

He startled Bruce by just how close he was and how quietly he had moved to his side. Just barely able, Peter rested his chin on the table in front of him to take in all the numbers and equations crowding the clear board above. With no clear starting point, Peter’s eyes wandered aimlessly before looking up to Bruce for guidance. 

“It’s,” He paused and grimaced a bit, “Boring work.”

“You sound like Tony.”

“I sound like Tony?” Bruce wasn't sure whether to be appalled, confused, or oddly honored.

“That's what he tells me when he thinks I won't understand something,” Peter explained, “He says it’s boring so that I don't think it's fun and so I don't ask anymore questions,” His eyebrows rose and fell as he pursed his lips, “Pepper says explaining is hard for Tony, and that he thinks everyone should just follow his lead. Explaining hard for you too?”

“I think Pepper is onto something,” replied Bruce, ignoring his question.

“Pepper can be right about a lot of things,” Peter commented, taking his avoidance in stride, “But so can Tony. Sometimes.” 

“Sometimes is a very broad and accurate word,” Bruce quickly side-glanced down at Peter, folded his hands in front of him, and tried his best, “I am,” He paused, “Attempting to find a cure for my ailment.” 

The young boy looked up in part-confusion, part-worry, “You’re sick?” 

“Not in the way I imagine you would think of when you hear ‘sick.’ If I cannot cure it, I’d like to at least control it.” 

It didn’t take more than a minute for Peter to process his words, “Are you talking ‘bout the Hulk? Is he the sick?” 

Bruce drew in a deep breath, held it for a pregnant moment, and released it as a sigh. His twiddling thumbs were the most interesting thing he could bear to look at, “Yeah, him, the Big Guy.”

Peter watched him become more jittery in his fingers and more rigid everywhere else. Bruce was used to staring, just as much as he was used to being judged, being alone, being avoided, and being angry. No doubt Peter had some grandiose view of The Hulk that Bruce was either not living up to or, for lack of a better word, smashing to bits with his negativity toward his other half. He was just waiting for Peter to frown or be nasty, to be insulting and accurate in a way only little kids could. It wouldn’t bother him much; Bruce had heard it all, mostly from himself. 

“Do you have gloves?” 

Out of all the- 

The question jarred him out of his apprehension, and Bruce wasn’t exactly sure where he landed on his spectrum of feelings. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Gloves,” Peter repeated patiently, “You know, like the kind doctors use. The rubber ones with different colors.” 

“I, um,” Bruce wanted very much to correct Peter again. He  _ was not _ a psychologist (he could barely handle his own emotional issues, for God’s sake), and while he had done a lot of medical work, he certainly wasn’t a surgeon or whatever Peter was currently imagining. Still, the abrupt and innocent question, followed by Peter’s very calm repetition, was enough to push Bruce’s arguments aside, “Yes. I do.” 

Peter’s face lit up, “Where?” 

Almost dumbly, Bruce pointed across his lab to a cabinet not out of Peter’s reach. Without another word, Peter went to it, opened it, and pulled out enough boxes to fill his skinny arms before walking back over and dumping them onto the counter in front of Bruce. 

“It’s good to take breaks,” Peter said simply, “Wanna make Mohawk Mikes with me?” 

Mohawk Mikes? 

 

Bruce found himself sitting in the middle of his lab’s floor and completely surrounded by blown-up, multicolored gloves with various faces drawn on them. The thumb of the glove was Mike’s nose, and the other fingers, his trademark mohawk. Apparently, Tony and Peter had done this while he was stuck in the hospital. It had been Tony’s brilliant idea to nick a box of gloves, and Peter’s to blow them all up. It had cheered him up, took his mind off his injuries for a moment; Bruce could honestly say he enjoyed every minute of the distraction, even if his drawing skills were a little on the subpar side. Made for goofier faces, though. 

“You know, I think it’d be pretty bad if I lived with someone I didn’t like,” Peter’s smaller fingers made another easy knot out of the end of the glove, “That’d be real bad.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, I mean, I really don’t like this boy named Eugene in my class,” Bruce nodded, showing he was listening, “He’s really loud, and he’s bad at school stuff. You know, math and science and things. He does okay with P.E. though. He’s the biggest kid in my class and he runs fast, but I really don’t like him. 

“When I come home from school though, he doesn’t come with me. It’s just me, Tony, and Pepper. He goes to his own house. I have to go to school to see him,” Bruce wasn’t exactly sure where this was going, but he continued to listen without interruption, “But you gotta go to work, and the store, and restaurants, and home, and all those other places with someone you don’t like. It’s gotta be tough.”

There was no use lying, “It is.” 

Peter was quiet. It’s how their conversations had gone the entire time: verbal diarrhea followed by long, comfortable silences. This, though, Bruce could feel Peter’s thoughts reaching out into empty air to grab more words to keep their talk going. It was very endearing to see the young boy’s mind at work, gears turning and factory in operation; it was also familiar, but Bruce couldn’t quite say where he had last seen that particular face. 

“ ‘There’s no such thing as all bad and all good,’ ” Peter finally said, “ ‘Good people have bad days sometimes. Some good people have bad days all the time, but it doesn’t make them all bad all the time.’ ”

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little touched. Peter, the tiny, ever-perceptive, hyper empathetic child, had said more to him than any adult had and actually meant it, “Where’d you read that?” 

“I didn’t. My dad said it.” 

“Sounds like a smart man.” 

“‘Richard Laurence Parker: Dumbest Smart Guy in the universe,’ ” Peter grinned lopsidedly, “That’s what Uncle Ben called him.” 

Something twanged inside Bruce. Richard Parker. The name opened the gates for a flood of memories; they were of happier times turned incredibly sour by somewhat recent events. Now he knew where he had seen Peter’s expressions. Richard “Ray” Parker had been a brilliant bio-engineer, and Bruce had had the pleasure of working with him very closely. Unfortunately, he had ruined that the moment the Big Guy had come along. He had hurt Mary and Richard that day; he’d demolished the budding friendship between them. He had just begun getting to know them. They had mentioned a son, didn’t they? 

Though, Bruce could be seeing too far into this. Richard Parker couldn’t be a too uncommon name. The chances were very slim it was the same Ray Parker he had met and nearly befriended. 

Bruce would just need to try to be sly, “What did your father do? I mean, if he ever talked about it, or was allowed to talk about whatever he did.”

Smooth, Bruce. 

But Peter hardly seemed to notice Bruce’s fumbling. He shrugged, “Aunt May told me that Mom and Dad worked for the government. They were scientists, and they had to go away a lot. I remember them always going on trips,” Peter grabbed another glove from the box, “I wanted to go with them, but they would never let me.” 

“I’m-I’m sure they would have taken you if they could.” 

Peter smiled up at him, “You sound like Aunt May. She told me that a lot.” 

His bright smile faded as he stared down at the un-inflated glove. Bruce wished he could decipher the boy’s thoughts as easily as Peter had deciphered his. Maybe if he knew more about his past, about just how he came into Tony’s possession, maybe it would be easier. Bruce knew nothing past Tony’s sudden want of a child followed by his sudden having of a child followed by his sudden showing up on the Avengers’ level of the tower with aforementioned child. 

But then, Peter hardly knew anything about Bruce past what he may have seen on the television, Bruce suspected. He had no more advantage than Bruce did. 

“This one’s the best,” Peter said, cutting through Bruce’s thoughts. 

He held up a freshly blown up glove, bigger than the others and vibrantly green. It was supposed to be blue; hints of the color swirled at its rolled hem and at the thicker tips of the fingers. Somehow, it had warped; whether by fading or exposure or an accidental mixing of colors, yellow had crept in and changed something uniform. 

“What do you think?” 

“I,” Bruce looked away from it, “I can’t say it’s my favorite of the bunch.” 

“Well, it’s my favorite. I’m not gonna put a face on this one,” Peter’s hand came up and rested against the stretched surface of the glove’s palm, looking all the tinier against it, “It’s different, and that’s about it, but I like it.” 

“Could be more dangerous. It’s bigger than the rest. Tougher too.” 

Peter turned his gaze from the large green glove to look at Bruce squarely. Large doe-eye bore deeply into him. 

Peter started gently, “Dogs are dangerous, but they’re our friends.” 

Bruce wasn’t sure comparing his other half to a family pet was the right way to go, but if he thought about it hard enough, the analogy wasn’t too far off. Dogs could be provoked into being mean; some had no choice but to be so from the get-go. 

“I’m not sure what to say to you, Peter,” Bruce finally said, “You baffle me.”

Peter shrugged, giving Bruce a half-smile, “That’s okay,” He handed over the glove, all but forcing Bruce’s hand around the knot, “I want you to keep this. I think it should be your favorite too.” 

“Peter,” Both Bruce and Peter looked up to the doorway where Tony rested against the doorframe with a smirk on his face. He took in all the Mikes littering the floor, “See you two had fun.” 

Peter’s toothy grin grew, “Wanna make one too?” 

“And put it where?” Tony gently nudged the gloves out of his way as he moved further into the room, “I’ll leave the Mikes to you and Brucie.” 

“It’s dinnertime then,” Peter stood, “Can we stay here? For dinner? Everyone’s here. We could do something nice.” 

Tony put his hands on his hips and bit his lip, “You know Pepper made plans.” 

“Never stopped you before.” 

Bruce snorted in a failed attempt to hold down his laughter. Tony clicked his teeth and shook his head. 

“Not the same, Rascal.” 

“Then I’ll ask her if it’s okay. Even superheroes have to eat. But first,” Peter hopped over to the counter he first sat on, grabbed a black box off the edge, and rushed back over to Bruce, who was just starting to stand, “Wait, wait,” He pushed him back down and sat in his lap, “Say cheese!” 

Bruce barely registered what had transpired when a flash made colored dots swim in front of his vision. He was distantly aware of the mechanical grind of the polaroid and Peter taking the newly printed photo and shaking it. 

“Thank you,” The boy smiled as he stood, “Can I use your phone, please, Tony? I wanna call Pepper.” 

“She’s down the hall waiting for us.” 

“Okay. See you, Bruce! Thanks for making Mikes with me!” 

Bruce rubbed at his eyes and nodded, “Yeah, no problem,” He smiled his best at Peter and gave him a wave. With dots still dancing, he watched as Peter left. It was just him and Tony. 

The thought sobered him considerably. Gone was the urge to call Tony out on the idiotic decision to leave Peter with him; Bruce could honestly say he enjoyed his time with Peter. It was nearly enough to thank the Stark. 

Nearly, but not quite. Not with new information hanging precariously in the air. 

“Tony.” 

“Hm?” 

“I need you to be extremely honest with me.” 

“Always, Bruce.” 

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. Always. Right. Tony kept his teeth pearly with his white lies, “Do you know who Peter’s father was?” 

“I think he said his name was Richa-” 

“No, I mean,” Bruce licked his teeth before clicking his tongue, “I mean, do you know who he  _ was _ ? What he did?”

“Can’t say I do,” Bruce shot him an accusing look. Tony held up his hands in surrender, “I swear.” 

“So you didn’t just send him in here for me to make amends? Confront things? Throw it in my face?” 

Tony cocked an eyebrow at him, a wry smile on his lips, and Bruce felt his growing concern drain from him. It was a stupid thought; as if Iron Man was in any position to force anyone to tackle the regrets in their past. He had no doubt that Tony had researched Richard Parker, but as to what depth, Bruce wasn’t sure Tony had gone much deeper than a couple layers under the surface. He wasn’t even sure if Richard’s file was still floating around in the government archives since he was declared missing in action. 

He sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. Maybe he was becoming too sensitive in the wrong places. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Tony shrugged, completely unfazed by the interaction, “If that’s the worst you’ve got, I’d say you have to take a few lessons from the press. Maybe go on the internet more,” Tony snapped his fingers, “Ah, go on YouTube. The comment sections are great places to pick up a few pointers in lobbing insults. Just passionate hate in general.” 

“Are you done?” 

“I have a few more. But the real question is: are you?” Tony crossed his arms, “Something I should know? Getting all in a tizzy over Peter’s dad. I sense a story.” 

Bruce shook his head and looked down at his feet, “It’s nothing really.” 

“Nothing. Hm. Asking Tony Stark to be ‘extremely honest’ over nothing,” Tony nodded, “I see the nothing.” 

Bruce shot him a look over his glasses, contemplating just how he was going to answer, “I worked with Ray Parker and his wife, Mary. He,” He paused, “He helped make me, me, and the Big Guy repaid them both just after he was,” A sigh, “ _ Born _ .” 

Tony’s tongue moved around in his mouth as he thought. Quickly enough, he came to a conclusion, “Peter doesn’t need to know. Don’t worry about it.”

“I wasn’t upset about him knowing, Tony. It wasn’t completely about that.”  

Tony nodded, "I know, but put it out of your head. I just wanted you to meet Peter," He clapped Bruce on his back, wrapped his arm around his shoulders, and started to lead him from the lab, “Come on. I’m sure he’s convinced Pepper to change her plans by now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there is anything you would like to read pertaining to life with little Peter, please let me know. I have a few things planned, but past the scant chapters I have left, there isn't really much of anything. Have cute scenarios? I wanna hear them. Have heartbreaking thoughts? By all means. Just wanna see something goofy? Lay it on me. I cannot guarantee in the slightest I will write every one, but if I see something I like, it'll be put up. Thanks for reading!!


	5. Of Nightmares and Bubbles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested: Peter's age is undetermined, and this chapter is considered a floater. It's up to the reader to decide where s/he would like this event to fall.

“JARVIS? Are you up?”

“For you, always.”

“What time is it?”

“2:49 AM, sir.”

“So, Tony isn’t up then.”

“On the contrary, Mister Stark is very much awake.”

“Why?”

“The same reason you are, Young Master.”

It seemed like the longest trek in the world, moving from his room at the end of the hall to Tony’s. It was dark, and the house made noises of both sleep and settling, creaking and groaning like something that ached. It was nothing Peter wasn’t used to. Aunt May’s and Uncle Ben’s home had been older than Tony’s, and weird sounds from neighbors and the noise pollution that floated over from the city actually helped him sleep at night, but even the most comforting of sounds warped in the wake of a nightmare. Corridors seemed longer and more narrow; shadows crueller and more jagged, wanting to grab and drag.

It was hard to avoid the darker patches of hallway, but Peter made it. Wide brown eyes peeked around Tony’s silently, slowly opening door. Not a light was on in his room, but Tony’s frame was clear to him. He was hunched, curled really, in the middle of his bed. Forehead resting in his palms, elbows on his knees, legs crossed, Tony had constructed a micro-universe around him that grew and warred and destroyed parts of itself continuously.

Had it a body, its veins would be blackened; skin jaundiced and stretched painfully tight over barely-there muscles and hard, jutting bone; nails brittle, brown, and crooked, willing and eager to tear and shred; and eyes red and swollen, popping out from its skull and terrifyingly sharp. A sickened, diseased thing it would be with limbs so thin they seemed to go on for miles. It wished to infect and feed on anyone who got close. It was a trickster, always seeming too ill to have anything more than the occasional victim, all few and far between, but to Tony, it was a lanky, solitary, successful hunter and a regular bedfellow.

“Tony?”

He looked up frantically as his universe imploded from outside noise. A breath was at the back of his throat, not sure whether to choke him or escape in a terrified rush. At the sight of the little boy at his door, it thankfully flowed gently out of him, “Yeah, Rascal, what do you need?”

“Did the monster get you too?” He asked, moving to stand at the end of Tony’s bed.

“A little old to still believe in monsters, aren’t you?” He hadn’t meant it to come off as unkindly as it did.

Still, Peter didn’t seem affected by his wording and climbed up onto his bed with him, “Monsters don’t care how old you are.”

Tony nodded, “Ain’t that the truth.”

“Are you okay?” Peter tried to catch his eyes directly, “Do you want some water?”

Tony shook his head. He wished he could just shoo Peter off, change the subject and magically reassure him all in one swift move, but Peter wasn’t Pepper and couldn’t be thrown off track quite as easily. He could spin a pretty lie for her right to her face; with Peter, more cunning and shadowy routes needed to be taken.

Imagine that: Tony Stark being cornered over and over again by a young boy when even his wife couldn’t.

Ah, Pepper, Tony lamented. She wasn’t next to him tonight. Gone on some business trip and wouldn’t be back for days. Not that it would help really, her being there; he would tell her nothing, but it was always the slightest bit calming to see her sleeping peacefully next to him after a particularly bad terror.

“I think we have some cookies. We could get some and watch a movie, maybe?”

“That’s okay, Peter. I’m alright. Or, I will be. I always am.”

Peter nodded and looked down at his bent knees.

Tony’s eyes narrowed at him, “What are you doing up?”

“Bad dream,” Peter mumbled, “JARVIS said you were up, so I thought…”

Ah, shit. He hadn't even thought that Peter was there for any other reason than to comfort him. There was that ingrained Stark narcissism again. His hands sought out Peter’s and encased them in their warm, calloused embrace.

“Wanna tell me about it?”

“No,” A quiet reply, “But if you wanna listen while I tell The Bubble, I guess that'd be okay.”

“The Bubble?”

“Yeah,” Peter gave him a confused look, “You’ve never been in it before?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to make one for the both of us,” He decided, “But I need a flashlight.”

The boy crawled across Tony’s lap to his nightstand without waiting for Tony’s okay and dug into the drawer. He knew, despite having an immeasurable amount of tech, Tony saw the value of having the basics close at hand. Even the best failed occasionally.

Peter resettled back in front of Tony, sitting so close that his knobby knees brushed Tony’s crossed legs. With a casual toss, Tony and Peter were encased in rippling, cottony white. Though the sheet was thin and its weight nothing, no sounds could be heard outside their bubble, no shadows in the corners taunted in their peripherals, and no chaos threatened. Only the gentle and slowly ebbing hum of anxiety and whispering breaths from the pair grounded them to the earth, to their home, to Tony’s room.

Tony wouldn’t speak, but Peter was more than willing to fill the air between them with words and light. Flashlight still in hand, he flicked it on and chased the rest of the darkness away that Tony’s arc reactor hadn’t.

“We’re safe now,” He said in a soft voice, “We’re in The Bubble. Nothing can get us here,” Tony desperately wanted to poke holes in that statement, but he wouldn’t. He couldn’t, “Monsters can’t get you under the blankets, and they’re scared of light. It’s why they like closets and the under parts of beds, and they scare you because they’re scared too,” Peter smiled, a thin ray of light caught on his dimples, “And it’s scarier to be scared alone than scared with other people.”

Tony gave a slight shake of his head. It was the most sense he’d ever gotten out of a person.

“What’s your name?”

“Peter, you know my name,” Tony grumbled.

“Tell me your name. The Bubble needs to know.”

Tony took a deep breath in, “Tony Stark.”

“Tony Stark,” Peter repeated, then paused as if listening. After a long moment, he nodded, “The Bubble will protect you. Bad dreams can’t get you here.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple, Peter.”

“Yes, it is,” The boy was firm, “You haven’t even tried.”

Tony resigned to stay quiet and follow Peter’s lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should rename this to "Perfect Baby Boy Peter Solves all the Avengers' Problems by Being Adorable and Honest" because that's what this is turning out to be. Such wisdom and comfort packed into one tiny prepubescent child. Hopefully, Peter stays as good to Tony as he is now, but teenage-hood is coming up so I doubt it very seriously. All well. I hope you enjoyed!


	6. Dinner with Heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Thor's turn to spend time with Peter. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested: Peter is just over nine in this chapter.

It was terribly last minute, but somehow a nice dinner had been prepared in the span of an hour and a half, everyone had been settled down and rounded up, and an almost quaint coziness warmed the room. It should have been odd having all of the Avengers at one table acting as if they were a family sitting down for a holiday meal; however, if anyone felt any awkwardness, none expressed it.

Peter liked the noise and activity. He liked hearing the hum of conversation and smelling the various foods in front of him. It reminded him of the BBQs Uncle Ben would host for their neighbors every few weeks during the Summer months. Though, nothing in front of him now would ever really come close to the aroma sweet BBQ sauce burning on the hot metal lines of a grill.

It was good he wasn’t wholly distracted by the almost-feast in front of him. It left him time to look around at all the new people he had met, particularly Thor. Between mouthfuls, he would shoot him looks. Out of all the Avengers, Thor had been the only one he hadn’t had one-on-one time with, and Peter was full to bursting with words just for the Asgardian. Picking a few to start with was only part of the battle; picking just when to jump in was another.

“You do not hide your curiosity well, Young Parker.”

Doe-eyes looked up to catch unnatural blue. Peter nodded in agreement, “I wasn’t really trying to hide it. Sorry for staring though.”

“Ah, do not apologize. Many in your realm stare. Many more are curious.”

“It still must be annoying,” Peter added, “All the questions are probably worse.”

Thor smiled lopsidedly, “They aren’t so bad either.”

“So, questions are okay, then?”

“Of course.”

Peter hesitated a moment, worrying his lip between his teeth and wiggling his toes before deciding to open his mouth, “How’d you get so big? Are you, like, part giant or something? Tony said something about giants, and you’re taller than Steve! Oh, and did it hurt when you fell to Earth? You fell from space! How are you alive right now? Have you ever electrocuted yourself?”

Thor’s booming laughter ended Peter’s line of questioning prematurely. The boy fell quiet with a frown. He supposed he should have seen it coming. Thor said questions were okay, not to bombard him with them.

“Don’t look so crestfallen!” Thor’s hand clapped onto Peter’s back, nearly pitching him out of his seat, “I did not mean to embarrass. Your enthusiasm is much appreciated.”

Peter’s bottom lip stuck out a bit, “Sorry. Too many at once.”

“What a guilty child you’re raising, Stark.”

Tony sipped from his glass, “Came with the package. I didn’t teach him that.”

“Sign of a strong conscience. Not necessarily a bad thing, I suppose,” Thor smiled at Peter, who gave an uncertain one in return, “Perhaps one at a time, Young Parker?”

He took a deep breath and released it slowly with a nod, “Okay. How come you’re the only one that can pick up your hammer?”

“I am not the only one.”

“It’s all a trick, Peter,” Clint cut in.

“A trick?” Peter looked from Clint to Thor in question, “Is it really a trick?”

Thor shook his head, “Hardly.”

“Whatever, man!” Clint denied goodnaturedly, “You figure out how to do it, and I guarantee you won’t have anymore problems.”

“You believe so?” Thor asked, rising from his seat. All eyes followed as he rounded to the end of the table, gently set Mjolnir at the edge, and motioned to it, “Please, be my guest.”

All were quiet for a moment and stared at the challenge, waiting for the joke to pop up. When nothing happened, Clint set down his silverware.

“Really?” Thor gave an approving nod. Clint stood and moved to face the test before him. Thor retook his seat and waited with an amused grin.

“Clint, we know you’ve had a tough week, so we won’t hold it against you if you can’t get it up.”

A light round of chuckles circled at Tony’s comment, but Pepper’s hand thumping against his chest in retaliation, combined with her hissed whisper of “Peter is right there,” cut the string of retorts Tony no doubt had stored before they could be released. Clint sent a look Thor’s way and took the handle in hand.

“You know I’ve seen this trick before right?” Clint pulled up with all his strength, grunting from the exertion. Another good try, and Clint let go with a shake of his head and a bubble of laughter on his lips, “I still don’t know how you do it!”

“Can you smell the silent judgement?” Tony added, smirking and biting into his roll.

Clint stared at him levelly, “Please, Stark, by all means.”

Tony rose, flicked open the button of his jacket, and moved to take Clint’s place. Peter stood on his chair, ready and waiting to see how Tony did. Before being adopted, he never thought in his wildest dreams that he would be able to meet Thor, let alone see Mjolnir up close and personal. Yet, here he was with the whole lot of them. Seeing one hero try to wield another’s weapon was a thrill, doubly so because he knew if Tony tried hard enough, he’d do it.

And maybe if he was really lucky, Thor would let him have a try too.

“Never one to shrink from an honest challenge.”

“You can do it, Tony! Use those muscles!”

“Thanks, Rascal,” replied, Tony as he slipped his hand through the leather strap and around the grip, “But it’s all physics,” He shifted to plant his feet firmly, “So, if I lift it, then that means I rule Asgard?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I will be reinstituting prima nocta.”

Tony pulled, all waited, and Peter craned himself to see better, but the hammer stayed firmly rooted to its perch. Peter deflated slightly. He was sure if anyone, Tony would be able to move it. He looked stronger than Clint, but he could be wrong. An idea popped into his head. If it was all about strength, then he just had to ask the strongest.

Peter grabbed Steve’s sleeve and tugged on it, “You should try! Come on!”

Tony’s face soured slightly, and the nerve in his brow fired, making it twitch, “Be right back.”

He scurried off before anyone could tell him no and was back before anyone else could get up to try their hand. An Iron Man gauntlet covered his arm up to his elbow, looking ready and eager.

“Take two.”

Tony gave it another go, twisting his hand various ways to get a better grip, even going so far as to put his foot on the edge of the table for leverage. Peter waited, nearly climbing over Thor as he watched. He wanted to get closer, but at the same time, stay away should Tony suddenly be able to lift it and it go flying upward.

Even Tony was forced to give up after his seventh try, much to his guests’ amusement.

“Alright then, Brucie,” Tony called, “Your turn.”

“Me? Are you kidding?”

“Nope. You’ve been tagged. You’re it, buddy.”

“Yeah, Bruce!” Peter shouted, “You can do it!”

Bruce gave a quick look around, shrugged, put his hands on his knees, and rose to try. Tony sat down to watch, looking a little bit more than miffed and disappointed, especially after shooting a look Peter’s way and seeing the delight on his face. Pepper patted his shoulder sympathetically.

Banner gave his try, ending his fruitless attempt with a parody of the Hulk that no one appreciated except for Peter. Pepper and Natasha, after much whining and complaining and goading, eventually tried their hands as well and were just as unsuccessful, if a little less teased due to their harsh glares in warning. Only when Steve gave his best was there a moment of intense breath-holding. A squeak, something akin to moving a heavy chair across a floor, caught everyone’s attention. It was only slightest nudge Mjolnir gave in interest, but it was enough. Thor tensed beside Peter. Peter beamed and waited, but again, all were disappointed when Mjolnir refused to give nothing more than what it already had.

“‘Whosoever carries Thor’s fingerprints’ is, I think, the literal translation?” Tony broke the silence.

“Yes, that is a very interesting theory,” Thor rose to collect his hammer. Peter jumped down to follow, “I have a simpler one. You’re all not worthy.”

“I wanna try!” Peter exclaimed, standing by Thor’s side and cutting through all the grumbling.

Thor looked down with eyebrow raised. The rest looked to Peter as well, seeing him grin and bounce on the balls of his feet with all the eagerness a nine-year-old boy could ooze and being terribly surprised by him.

“Can I?” The young man asked earnestly, “Please?”

Thor’s questioning glance went up to Tony, who held his hands up in surrender, “Don’t look at me. Your call.”

The god hesitated, but shrugged, “I see no harm in trying,” He lifted Peter and set on a chair to raise him up, “It is only fair.”

“Good luck, Rascal.”

Peter flashed a toothy smile his way quickly in thanks before focusing on the task in front of him. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together, “Okay. Here I go.”

Tiny hands and fingers seemed all the tinier around the leather-bound handle. It was hardly made with a child in mind, let alone a human one. He expected it to be cold and rough like the various tools Tony kept in his workshop, but to Peter’s surprise, it was both warm and giving, as if alive. He thought of it like holding another’s hand, firm and sure.

He pulled and expected a squeak like Steve had gotten, but nothing. He gave another, but Mjolnir would not budge. The group gave a collective sigh.

“Sorry, bud,” Tony said, “Better luck next time.”

“No, no, no, no, no!! One more try,” Peter cried, undefeated, “You had like ten tries!”

“Alright, alright. Go ahead then.”  

The boy took a deep breath, held it, and released it in a rush. Peter gave a sharp, hard tug, and nearly pitched himself off the chair he stood on, taking the hammer with him. He staggered and wobbled, the chair following his lead, but he couldn’t much care about his balance when a block of metal was hovering in front of his face.

“Ho-ly shit,” Someone broke the silence.

Peter stared at his blurred reflection on the shining gray and watched his already warped features morph into hysterical elation. Excited puffs of hot breath fogged the mirror-like surface.

“I did it!!” He screamed as he threw up his hands, hammer held high.

Peter’s weight was thrown too far left from the movement, and he toppled. The shout on his lips never made it out. Thor caught him, his booming laughter filling the room and overcoming the murmurs, and Peter found himself tossed up once into the air and caught again.

“A worthy one has been found!” Thor bellowed, “You’ve been accepted, Young Parker!”

Peter wanted to call the hug he received shortly after as nothing more than a bear-hug, but he might as well call a bullet wound a bee sting from then on as well. Thor’s beard scraped against his cheek as it passed by, and his tiny body was completely engulfed by thickly muscled arms and a broad chest. He didn’t care. He could still laugh, as uncomfortable as he was.

“Calm down there, Thunderbolt. You’ll need him breathing if he’s gonna rule Asgard.”

“Rule Asgard?” Thor asked loosening his grip. Another laugh rattled out of him as he realized, “Yes, I suppose you’re right. So, Young Parker, are you up for the trip to your soon-to-be kingdom?”

Peter's face twisted with disapproval, “I don’t wanna be a king.”

“Truly?”

“Think about that for a minute, Rascal. Whatever you want, whenever you want it. You make the rules.”

“I have that here,” Pepper’s giggle was barely muffled in her palm. It was Tony’s turn to give her looks, “Maybe I’ll just visit.”

“Ah, but you did prove yourself,” Thor said, continuing the joke, “Asgard needs a king. Who better than one who can lift Mjolnir?”

“Can everyone come visit me then? Could Tony and Pepper and Harry come stay with me?”

The joke was slowly becoming more somber. The expression on Thor’s face showed it, “Unfortunately, Asgard is not that accommodating.”

“Here, then,” Peter smiled, “I’d rather stay here. Thanks for letting me have a try,” Peter passed the hammer back into Thor’s hand. Thor wasn’t sure if he imagined it, but it felt just the slightest bit heavier, “You can keep it though.”

“Humble and curious in equal measure. One of those was not taught by you, Stark.”

“We’ve been through this, I think,” Tony retorted.

Peter wiggled out of Thor’s hold and stood once again on the chair, “I have another question.”

“Yes?”

“Why couldn’t I have both?” Thor was silent, and Peter waited patiently for a few heartbeats, “If I was King of Asgard, why couldn’t I let Tony and Pepper and Harry come live with me too? Or why couldn’t you make it okay? You’re the king, right?”

“I am not king yet,” Thor gently corrected, “As for why, it is just easier to keep mortals at a distance.”

Peter sighed heavily and hopped off the chair, “That’s dumb. Even if I lived forever, I’d wanna stay with everyone all the time. It's better to have them for a little while than not at all. I don’t see why you can’t have both. And, you know what? I bet there would be some space magic that made them live just as long as me, so I'd never lose them,” Without another look, Peter headed toward the hallway, “I’m gonna go get some cookies and ice cream! It’s time for dessert.”

As if snapping from a trance, Thor looked up to all the faces staring at him. Many looked away quickly; Tony, in typical fashion, smirked and continued his staring.

“Something amusing, Stark?”

“Not really funny so much as,” Tony pursed his lips, “No, that’s a good word. Funny. Amusing. A little hilarious. I guess now I really have to make jackets, or pins, or something. Wristbands, maybe.”

“Your meaning?”

“You’ve joined the club,” Tony elaborated, “The ‘Peter Hit My Weak Point Immediately Without Even Trying’ Club. I wish I had a clever acronym for that. I got nothin’.”

“That’s a first,” Natasha interjected.

“If you have a suggestion, Romanov, I’d love to hear it.”

“Give me a minute.”

“In any case, he’s well on his way to becoming a nuclear psychologist,” Bruce tittered.

“A what?”

“Is that a thing?”

Bruce shook his head, “Nevermind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the image of the Mighty Thor holding teeny tiny child Peter. I had to do it. 
> 
> Also, I stole this scene from Age of Ultron, but I'm sure you knew that already.


	7. Happy Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested: Peter's age is almost eleven in this chapter.

“Sir, Captain Rogers is requesting entry.” 

“Why?” 

Tony was genuinely baffled. Steve was supposed to be on a mission, gone for weeks in fact, and he just showed up on his doorstep out of the blue. 

“He says he has a gift for Peter.” 

Oh, Tony immediately soured, that was his game. Peter’s birthday wasn’t for another ten days, and already, Steve was trying to one-up him in the gift department. Well, joke’s on him. Steve was showing his hand; it gave Tony plenty of time to find and get something better. 

“Let him in.” 

A floor above, he heard someone move, but paid it little mind. He’d give Steve a few moments of victory before going up there and completely crushing him. The thought made him smirk over the bits and bobs littering his work table. It’d be fun putting Rogers in his place. 

He was just beginning to concoct plan after plan on just how he was going to bring him down a couple pegs when a scream echoed from above. Metal scattered in a chorus of ringing tinkles, and Tony’s chair clattered to the floor, booming like the bass of a drum as it hit, as Tony raced up the stairs. He missed the last step and stumbled, barely managing to keep himself upright until he reached his living room. 

Another shriek hit his ears and sent him into a heightened frenzy of seek-and-protect, but there was no danger, only Steve smiling and standing there watching over Peter, Peter on his back on the floor literally screaming with laughter, and a mottled black-white-and-tan, waggly-tailed, floppy-eared ball of fluff and yips pinning the boy down and attacking his face with its tongue. Tony was stunned completely. 

Steve sent a glowing smile his way, though a little less innocent now and a little fuller on self-satisfaction, “Hey, Tony.” 

“What the hell is that?” 

“This is a dog,” Steve smartly replied, “Canis Lupus Familiaris is the scientific name for it.” 

Tony’s lips thinned at the statement. Like Steve knew the scientific names for anything. How long had he been planning this? More to the point, he knew what a goddamn dog was. 

“I mean, what is it doing here?” Tony asked through clenched teeth. 

“It’s Peter’s gift.” 

Peter was so far away from them at the moment, too lost in the fuzzy animal demanding his love and attention, and all Tony could do was stare in silence. All of his plans hadn’t accounted for a  _ creature _ of all things being Steve’s gift to Peter; hell, he hadn’t gotten to imagine anything past a wooden train or a clump of dirt or whatever they played with way back when. Steve getting Peter something that any child would be absolutely gaga over? Unthinkable. 

The muscle in his jaw twitched as he turned his gaze back to Steve. He was almost positive there was steam pluming from the corners of his mouth and nostrils as his emotions began to froth inside him. All he was offered as another infuriating grin in return. 

“I fucking hate you.” 

“I bet.” 

“I don’t think I’ve hated so much in my entire life.” 

“Every house needs a dog.” 

“Not this house.” 

That brought Peter back. He was up on his feet and in front of Tony before anymore negativity could spew forth. 

“I can’t keep him?” The boy’s tone wavered.

Steve’s hand went up to cover his growing smile as Tony once again worked himself into a hole he couldn’t dig himself out of. 

“Peter,” Tony tried, “Well-” 

“Steve brought him over just for me though,” He pouted, “I already gave him a name. It’s Woofer. I have to give Woofer back?” 

Steve’s hand tightened over his mouth, but even still, the laughter fought and won, even if it was slightly muffled. So stuck between the two of them, that Tony couldn’t even turn to defend himself. His sole focus was Peter, pouting, upset, guilt-inducing Peter. He couldn’t find a single word to say. 

“Please?” Peter pleaded, “Pretty please, can I keep him?” Tiny hands fisted Tony’s shirt, “Steve says Woofer has nowhere else to go. His neighbor can’t keep him. Can we please keep him? Please, please, please?” 

“No,” Peter’s face pulled further into sadness, and Tony cleared his throat, “You-You don’t have to give him back.” 

Fuck. 

The boy brightened enough to rival the sun and hugged him tightly around the waist. Beside him, Woofer barked and wagged his curled, puffy tail. 

“Thank you, Tony!” 

Haltingly, Tony patted the top of Peter’s head, grinded his teeth, and nodded, “Mhm.” 

Peter was gone after one final bright smile up at Tony, taking Woofer with him. Tony clicked his tongue and, finally, let his disapproval begin to seep out where it could crawl and latch onto Steve. 

“I’m gonna kill you, Rogers.” 

“Have fun, buddy.” 

Tony wagged an accusing finger his way, “If it makes a mess anywhere in this house, you’re coming straight over to clean it up.” 

“And if I’m halfway across the country?” 

“Then you better book a red-eye flight.” 

“You’re just going to leave it there,” Steve folded his arms and shook his head, “For hours? I’m going to call your bluff.” 

“Makes it harder for you to clean up. Don’t you dare underestimate me, Capsicle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want another dog. Also, for anyone who cares, I made Peter's birth date October 7th since I couldn't find an official date for the real Peter Parker.

**Author's Note:**

> For those expecting a SuperFamily fic, I apologize, but it will never be as such. I just don't ship it, unfortunately, but don't mind if people do!
> 
> On another note, this piece is simply a background work for a larger series I'm planning. It's been rolling around in my head for a little while, and it needed to be dumped out before it exploded into something I couldn't control. I loved the idea of Tony playing parent, and I love Peter Parker regardless of situation, so I combined the two. I hope I did an alright job. 
> 
> If you would like to see more scenes about Life with Tony and Peter, I'd be more than willing to pen them. They'd remain as nonconsecutive chapters on this, Part One, and probably wouldn't be updated frequently, but with a little hope and pretty words, they'd at least be enjoyable. 
> 
> Finally, to all you hardcore Marvel fans out there, I have an apology. I have only seen the movies, so I don't think it's fair of me to ask you to expect anything more than that meager knowledge. I've wanted to educate myself with the comics, but the endeavor is much too great an undertaking. Thus far, I've only managed to read Spider-Gwen, Silk, Spider-Woman, and Spiderman/Deadpool, all really recent comic series that I've found some enjoyment in. Unfortunately, I won't be going much further than that. I haven't the time, energy, or money.


End file.
